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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28941579">The Great Avengers Bake Off</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher'>squadrickchestopher</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Baking, Banter, Fluff and Crack, Hijinks &amp; Shenanigans, Multi, POV Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, he doesn't have his arm, kind of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:06:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28941579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers do an episode of the Great British Bake Off for charity. It goes about as well as expected.</p><p>N1 for WHB, Amputee Bucky</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>155</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Winterhawk Bingo Round Two</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Great Avengers Bake Off</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I don’t understand why we’re doing this,” Bucky mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For charity,” Clint says again, looking around. “And fun. And competition. And...I dunno. Pepper can give you the whole speech, if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t want the speech. I got it from Steve already. Twice.” He looks around as they all walk in the tent, eyeing the baking stations with trepidation. “I just — you know I suck at cooking, right? I could burn water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucky for you, this is baking,” Clint says, grinning at him. He dodges the elbow Bucky tosses his way, and adds, “I’ll help if you need it. I can bake. And I know you only got one arm right now.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky does only have one arm — the metal one is undergoing maintenance, which according to Steve and Pepper isn’t a good enough reason to sit out this charity thing — but he ignores that in favor of the more interesting thing he just heard. “You can bake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Bucket. I make Kate a cake every year for her birthday. Big, giant purple one. Buttercream frosting and everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me Bucket. Why didn’t you tell me that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never asked?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never made me a birthday cake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mentioned your birthday last year and you threatened to stab me.” He pats Bucky’s ass and leans on one of the counters. “So if you want a cake, now you have to ask nicely. And apologize. Preferably with your mouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky snorts. “I’ll think about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha breezes past, settling herself at the station behind Bucky. “Put your best effort in,” she says to him. “You don’t have to win, you just have to beat Tony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I object to that,” Tony says. “I’m great at baking. Ask Pepper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did ask Pepper.” Nat flashes a smile. “And then I got the story of the scorch marks on the kitchen ceiling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony puts a hand over his heart in mock disappointment. “Dirty traitor,” he says, picking his station. “She promised not to tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky’s innately curious, but there’s no time to ask. People with cameras are pouring into the tent, and then the two presenters are talking, and he’s being stared down by an older guy with silver hair and piercing blue eyes. Bucky stares him down right back, narrowing his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ease up,” Clint mutters, nudging him as he moves around the counter, taking the station in front of Bucky. “That’s that Paul guy. He’s as grumpy as you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Bucky thinks about trying to wave at him, and decides that’d be overkill. The woman next to him in the colored glasses looks nice, at least. Friendly. She catches Bucky’s eye and offers him a warm smile. “She seems nice, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prue,” Natasha murmurs, leaning a little closer. “That’s her name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky nods, making himself tune back in to what they’re saying. He knows a little bit about what’s coming — Steve sat him down the other day and ran him through the sequence of events with all the seriousness of a mission briefing. So he’s ready for it when the “on your marks, get set, bake!” comes along, and everyone starts pulling stuff out and setting it on the counters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he twitches when someone with a camera gets up into his space, asking him about his eggless sponge — which is something he’s actually vaguely familiar with. He has distant memories of sitting in a kitchen, watching someone make this. His mom, maybe, or Sarah Rogers. Might even have been Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he says, trying to focus on what he’s mixing, which is annoyingly hard with a camera in his face. “I just — Sam picked the recipe for me, I have no idea what I’m doing—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The camera guy looks like he’s about to ask another question, and then Natasha is suddenly next to him, sliding into his space like she’s always belonged there. “Just borrowing a whisk,” she says sweetly, and narrows her eyes at the cameraman, who disappears almost as quickly as he showed up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Bucky whispers to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime.” She pops up on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek, then ducks back over to her own station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint turns around. “You okay?” he asks, and fuck if he doesn’t look adorable with flour already smeared across his nose. “Sorry, I tried to tell Steve you wouldn’t like this, but you know how he gets with this kinda thing—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Bucky says. “They were just...close. I don’t mind answering questions, just don’t want anyone in my face.” He nods over to where Peter’s talking animatedly with the presenters. “He’s okay. No one else, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint nods. “I’ll let them know.” He grins. “Ease up, man. It’s just for fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not good at this,” Bucky says, sounding a little more desperate than he means to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Clint leans over the counter and kisses him, putting an effective end to his budding panic attack. “It’s okay. You don’t <em>have</em> to be good at it. The point is to get people to watch, not for you to dazzle us all with your one-armed baking prowess. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Bucky says after a moment. He forgets, sometimes, that it’s okay to not be good at things. Seventy years of demanded perfection can be hard to shake off. “Okay. I’m trying.” He points at Clint’s station. “Go on. Get out of here. I can do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the spirit,” Clint says. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and a little smirk playing around his mouth. God, Bucky loves that look. Loves it so damn much it makes his heart ache. Sometimes, Clint and Nat will both do it to him, look at him the same way, and fuck it just <em>does</em> things to him—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful there,” Clint says, leaning back on his counter. “You keep looking at a guy like that, he’s gonna get ideas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky snorts. “You started it. And you’re gonna knock your bowl over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint turns around, knocking his mixing bowl to the ground in the process. It’s only his fast reflexes that save him, and even then, he manages to spill most of the contents on his foot. “Aw, flour, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky laughs, and Clint looks delighted with himself. Bucky doesn’t know if that was on purpose or not, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. Clint is one of the few people who can make him laugh, and Bucky doesn’t really care how he does it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boys,” Natasha says, coming around to replace the whisk she took. “Are you baking, or flirting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, darlin’,” Bucky says, turning to her. “Can’t we do both?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony’s going to beat you,” she says, but there’s a smile playing around her mouth, and she slips her fingers just underneath the hem of his t-shirt as she walks by. Bucky’s pretty sure a camera catches it, but he doesn’t care about that either. These are <em>his</em> people, and what the world thinks about them being together doesn’t matter one bit to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes back to baking. At some point, Paul and Prue come over to talk with him, and there’s an awkward few minutes as he desperately tries to remember what exactly is going in his eggless sponge, while also trying to measure flour and crack eggs and do other things with only one arm. Peter rescues him from that one, urging them along with a disarming smile and a few quips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How you doing?” Clint asks, leaning on his counter. “You need help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need another hand,” Bucky says. “Seriously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got you,” Clint says, and then Natasha’s appearing on his other side, and between the three of them, they manage to get Bucky’s cakes into the oven. “You thought about what you’re decorating with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky stares at him. “I have to decorate them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha pokes Clint in the ribs. “Don’t terrorize the poor boy. Sam said just sprinkle them with powdered sugar. Simple is better in this case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Bucky says, and turns to see how everyone else is doing. Steve already has one cake out, and he’s decorating it with all the intensity Bucky would expect from an artist. Bruce has his out too, attempting to layer them with a bemused look on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony is <em>lasering</em> his out of their tins. He flashes a thumbs-up when he sees Bucky looking, which distracts him, and a moment later there’s a clattering of metal, and the cake tin falls apart, cut in half by the thin red beam.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony,” Pepper sighs, coming over. “Is that from your suit? I told you not to! You just sliced into the counter!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was stuck,” Tony says innocently, toeing the cake pan to the side. “How else was I supposed to get it out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With great strength!” Thor calls over, and he whacks his cake tin on the side of the counter. His shatters as well, the cake falling onto the floor, and he stands there, staring down at his empty hands. “Ah. Perhaps not, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Savages,” Clint says. “The both of you. You know how you get it out? With a butter knife. And <em>delicacy</em>.” He points at his, which looks more mangled than anything. “See?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky looks up in time to catch Paul and Prue staring around at them, looking slightly alarmed. He hides a grin and checks on his own cakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All of you are terrible,” Natasha says. “Did none of you grease the tins?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help me take these out,” Bucky mutters to Clint, gesturing to the oven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get the cakes out, and onto cooling racks — Bucky’s slide out perfectly, much to Clint’s annoyance — and then everybody kind of stands around, waving large trays to cool them down. Bucky has no idea what this is supposed to do, but Clint assures him that it’s traditional, and he just kind of rolls with it. Clint’s better at this stuff than he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The decorating is surprisingly easy, and despite being behind, Bucky actually manages to finish right as the presenters call time. He nods at his sponge, feeling like maybe he’s cobbled together something semi-respectable here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The judges walk around, trying each of the cakes. Bucky fidgets as they get to his, but surprisingly, they seem to like it. Paul deems it “light and delicious” and Prue actually takes a second slice, which he’s pretty thrilled with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently, he, Natasha, and Bruce are the only ones to do well. Steve’s is “pretty, but inedible,” and Clint’s is “a right mess,” and Tony’s is “nondescript.” Thor’s is still on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Clint says, turning to Bucky as they walk away. “Clearly, you no longer need my help. Can stand on your own two feet and one arm and all that. This means war.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky grins. “Sore loser, aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense,” Clint says. “I’m pushing you out of the nest. Baby bird, learn to fly and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think <em>you’re</em> the bird here—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh. Get out of here with your weird 1940’s flirting lingo—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You’re fucking Hawkeye—” He puts his hand over Clint’s mouth before he can make a joke about who exactly Hawkeye is fucking. “Don’t you dare.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” Natasha says. “I’ll help you this round if you need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky raises an eyebrow, letting Clint push his arm away. “Just this one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see how it goes,” she says mysteriously, and goes back to her station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second round is the technical, so the judges leave the tent. Bucky watches them go, then listens with half an ear as Peter introduces the next challenge. It’s apple pie, which Bucky finds inherently amusing, mostly due to Steve’s expression as the cameras round on him. “Something something Captain America,” he murmurs to Natasha, who snickers quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re released to bake, and Bucky grabs his sugar container, popping it open. He’s halfway through dumping it into a bowl when he realizes that it doesn’t look quite...right, and he glances into the container. Then he tastes it and makes a face. “Shit. This is salt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it?” Clint asks, spinning around to look at him. “Spooky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky glares at him. “Did you switch my salt and sugar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is <em>war</em>,” Clint says ominously, unable to keep a straight face. “I’m just stacking the odds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a dick,” Bucky tells him, dumping his bowl in the trash. “Gimme my sugar back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll give you sugar any day, baby,” Clint deadpans, and Bucky seriously considers dumping the whole salt bin on his head. But then Clint slides the sugar back over, and a kiss for good measure, and Bucky forgives him because he’s a soft bastard with a <em>severe</em> weakness for Clint fucking Barton.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Making an apple pie with one hand is interesting. They gave him a bunch of one-handed baking tools to help, and occasionally Peter steps in to hold things for him, but it’s still a challenge. It’s even more challenging because Clint keeps up his little one-man war, which expands to include stealing necessary baking implements. Bucky gets revenge by knocking something over every time he goes to get them back, which ends up with Clint’s station looking like an utter mess, and Clint cursing him out as he tries to salvage ingredients.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha,” Bucky says, finally sliding his pie in the oven. “I win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never,” Clint says, trying to pick up an egg yolk. “This is merely a setback.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A setback—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s interrupted by a crackle of lightning, and turns in time to see Thor and Tony both splattered in apple pie, both of them laughing like maniacs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What now?” Pepper sighs, coming over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was attempting to speed up the baking process,” Thor says, wiping apples from his hair. “And Stark here convinced me—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, lord,” she mutters, putting her head in her hands. “Never mind. Don’t. Just don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint’s laughing so hard he has to hold onto the counter to keep from falling over. Bucky takes the opportunity to steal all of his spatulas and dump them into Nat’s station when she’s not looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the presenters call time. They all carry their pies up, setting them behind their pictures on the table in the front. The results are...varied, to say the least. Thor’s is an utter mess. Tony’s is charred black. Clint’s doesn’t have any decorations on it, probably because they all migrated over to Steve’s pie, which looks more like a piece of art than a baked good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicely done,” Steve says to Bucky, putting his pie down. “You doing okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m dating the world’s biggest asshole,” Bucky says, elbowing Clint. “But otherwise, yeah. I’m alright. Kinda having fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha,” Clint says, dodging his elbow as he sets Bucky’s pie down for him. It’s boring, compared to Steve’s but he’s pretty sure it’ll taste decent. He’s better at this baking thing than he would’ve thought, honestly. But then again, it’s mostly about following directions and being accurate — something he’s always been decent at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty,” he says, as Natasha puts hers down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I went undercover as a baker once,” she says. “I know what I’m doing. Unlike some people.” She eyes Clint pointedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was with you on that mission,” Clint tells her. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You lit the place on fire.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flour is <em>flammable</em>, Natasha.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Clint. I <em>know</em>.” She shakes her head and goes to sit on the line of stools the crew is setting up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all take their seats, and the judges come back in. Bucky’s weirdly nervous as they taste each pie one by one, watching as they get to his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His pie is apparently delicious, if a little plain looking, and he can’t quite hide the tiny flash of pride as they go down the list. Bruce wins, and he comes in second, with Natasha taking third.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” she says to Clint as they get up. “This means war.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Clint cheers, sticking his fist in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sore losers,” Bucky says, grinning. “The both of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint huffs in mock-disappointment, then hooks his arm around Natasha’s. “Come, darling,” he says, putting on the worst British accent Bucky’s ever heard. “You heard him. He’s too good for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lead the way, dearest,” Natasha says, and they leave the tent. Bucky watches them go, still grinning, feeling better about this whole thing than he has since he started. Nat and Clint both have a way of doing that, sliding under his defenses and pulling him out of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve comes up on his other side. “You’re good at this,” he says, sounding a little impressed. Bucky isn’t sure if he should be offended or not. “I didn’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t either,” Bucky says, shrugging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You doing okay without the arm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m making it work.” He nudges Steve. “Come on, Mr. Style-Over-Substance. Let’s go get dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve groans. “I’m an artist,” he says, following Bucky out. “I don’t know what they expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I called it,” Bucky says. “Of course you’d be all about the presentation. Have you seen your uniform? That’s like, the definition of style over substance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the hell up,” Steve grumbles. “There’s still tomorrow. I could make a comeback.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky laughs again and gestures up the hill. “Come on. I’m starving.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Day two in the tent is pretty much like day one, except Bucky finds himself in a much better mood. He still hates the cameras in his face, still only talks to Peter when they come around for questions, but he’s a lot less on edge. He’s also much more practiced at cracking eggs one-handed, which makes the day go a little easier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re making cakes now, themed to fit the charity they’re donating to if they win. Bucky’s is Honor Flight, so he’s trying to make his in the shape of an airplane. Clint’s is Paws 4 Ability, so his cake, of course, is dog-themed. Bucky’s pretty sure it’s actually supposed to be Lucky, but it looks more like a squashed log than anything else right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha’s donating hers to the American School of Ballet, and Bucky glances over as she carefully cuts hers into a ballerina shape. “That looks nice,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she says without looking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see how it is.” Bucky turns back around to find Clint’s stolen all of his frosting colors. “Oh, you rotten <em>bastard</em>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m innocent in this,” Clint says, winking at him. “You’ll find all evidence at Tony’s station.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky rolls his eyes and retrieves his colors from Tony, who hasn’t even noticed. He’s too busy turning up the heat on the oven, staring into it with a furrowed expression. “One of the elements isn’t working,” he says, pointing at it. “See?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky looks at it. “What do you mean? It’s on. It’s hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not the <em>same</em> heat,” Tony says, like that’s supposed to mean something. Bucky pats his shoulder and leaves him to it, catching Clint in the process of stealing his mixer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a terrible thief,” he says, pointing at its spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint returns it. “Maybe I’m just the distraction. Can I steal a kiss instead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it stealing if you ask for it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint shrugs and kisses him anyway, then goes back to his cake. Bucky returns to his own station, swiping his tools back from Natasha with narrowed eyes before he starts decorating. It’s not pretty, but it’s recognizable as an airplane, which he’s really kinda proud of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dammit,” Clint says, as he puts his elbow in the frosting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky looks over. “Is that supposed to be a dog?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s you. Can’t you tell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky snickers. “You sound frustrated. You could just give up now, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never,” Clint says. He wipes the frosting off his elbow, then gets a little smirk on his face. A second later, he’s leaning across the counter and smearing his fingers on Bucky’s cheek. “There ya go. Get some color on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky splutters and leans back, scrubbing at his face. “Fuck you,” he says, dipping his own spatula in his frosting bowl and whipping it at Clint, who shrieks and ducks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frosting fight!” Tony yells, and things just escalate from there. By the time everyone is separated, the tent looks like a frosting bomb went off in it, splatters of pinks and greens and blues everywhere. There’s frosting on the judges, and the presenters, and the cameras, and pretty much everyone in the tent. Clint and Thor are on the ground, laughing hysterically, and even Natasha is giggling. Bruce is still calmly decorating in the back, now smudged with green frosting and grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony’s patting Pepper on the shoulder, clearly holding back laughter as she stands there with her head buried in her hands, Steve looking sheepish on her other side. “Can’t take you anywhere,” she’s muttering, and Bucky stifles his own laughter as he reaches down to pull Clint off the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this a disaster yet?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense,” Clint says, dusting his hands down his shirt. “This is good TV, right?” He looks over at Steve. “Hey, Rogers, you got a little something right there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Did you start this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, Bucky started this—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is a goddamn lie,” Bucky says. “He put frosting on my face. He started this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lies and slander, good Captain—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sighs again. “Never mind. I — never mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s only twenty minutes left, so they forgo cleaning up to finish the cakes. Bucky’s is already mostly done, so he spends the time fiddling with the windows. By the time the presenters call for a stop, he’s actually got a semi-decent looking airplane, and he’s honestly thrilled with it. Maybe there is something to this whole baking thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Clint says, stepping back from his dog cake. “I’ll admit it. This is terrible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that bad,” Bucky says, leaning over the counter and looking at it. “I mean, it looks like a...” He squints. “Rat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so mean,” Clint says, putting a hand on his heart. “It looks like a dog!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you close your eyes and squint,” Natasha says, sliding her arms around Bucky’s waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Clint. Just stick to what you’re good at.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ridiculous puns,” Bucky says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat laughs. “Inappropriate music choices in the bedroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being clumsy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making friends with dogs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making friends with <em>everybody</em>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drinking coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that really a talent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is the way he does it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint’s bright red now, looking back and forth between them like he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or do something else. “You—” he starts, but then the judges are coming around to his station, and he turns to talk to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He forgets how much we like him sometimes,” Nat murmurs in Bucky’s ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Well. We’ll tell him again tonight. Like always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.” She pats his ass, then slips back to her own station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The judges taste each of the cakes. The guy still has frosting in his hair, something Bucky tries really hard not to laugh about when they come around to his station. He gets good marks for his cake, though, it apparently being good enough and airplane-shaped enough to mostly satisfy them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Clint says as they walk away. “You realize that this means you have to bake for me at home, right? Like, you just assigned yourself to live in the kitchen and make me muffins forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Natasha says, sounding almost offended. “I can bake too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can help,” Clint tells her. “I’ll lay on the couch and admire the view.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky rolls his eyes. “Can we put him in an oven?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need,” Clint says, flexing. “I’m already hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh <em>god</em>,” Bucky says, cracking up. “I can’t believe I willingly sleep with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint grins. “You love me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Bucky says, glancing at Nat, who nods. “Yeah, we do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The judges come back in with their announcements. Natasha places third, Bucky comes in second, and Bruce takes the top spot. Bucky’s glad he didn’t win, mostly because there’s a big production with a giant check that makes him uncomfortable just watching, and it’s nice to see Bruce look so happy anyway. As a “surprise” the show ends up donating to all the charities they were competing for anyway — surprising no one, really — and there’s polite applause from everyone involved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The filming finally ends a few minutes later, and Bucky relaxes the moment the cameras are all put away. They wander around then, tasting each other’s cakes, and poking fun at the terrible decorations. Once he’s seen all of them, Bucky moves to the back of the tent with his plate, finding a spot where he can survey the chaos without getting too involved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Steve says, coming over a few minutes later. He still has red frosting in his hair, which makes Bucky snicker. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For doing this. I know it sucked without an arm, and with all the cameras---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Bucky says, and is surprised by how much he means it. “Honest, Steve. I — I had fun.”  He looks over to Nat and Clint, who have their arms slung around each other and are laughing loudly, without a care in the world. “I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re good for you,” Steve says softly, and Bucky has to agree. He’s covered in frosting, and tired, and he really fucking wants his arm back. But he’s also <em>happy</em>, happier than he can remember being in a long time, and he supposes that this might have been worth the worry and stress in the beginning. Might even be worth the baked goods that he knows Clint is going to demand after this, and that Bucky is going to give him because he’s an absolute sucker for that crooked smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he says. “They really are.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm on <a href="https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a> </p><p>Edited by Bekala, thank you!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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